The Blessed Broken Road
by ladyredraven
Summary: It's easy to get lost on the broken road of relationships. True love isn't instantaneous. With some help, over a series of ordinary Sundays, Neville may just find it.


Notes: This story faintly alludes to Thanfiction's _Dumbledore's Army and the Year of Darkness_, but is not meant to be compliant. The title and summary are derived from the Rascal Flatts song _"Bless the Broken Road"_ which indirectly influenced this story; however, this is not a songfic.

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><p>April 28, 2002<p>

Discarded rubbish rustled as Neville cracked into being next to the brick wall between Diagon Alley and the Leaky Cauldron. He sullenly shuffled into the pub, letting the door slam behind him. It was very late, or perhaps very early, so the common room was eerily silent and empty of patrons. Slumping onto a barstool, he looked around but only saw the past.

A girl reading her magazine, upside down. Petting her Patronus. Properly introducing him to Thestrals. The same girl fending off Death Eaters. Again, on the train wearing peculiar glasses. More afternoons feeding Thestrals and talking. Another round of dueling Death Eaters. Comforting younger students. Standing up to authority, to Snape. Resisting Bellatrix. Quickly, images flooded his mind like fireworks: painting, dancing, _being_. Helping him heal from an unspeakable year of pain and loss. Dozens upon dozens of letters with doodles in the margins. The occasional date. Laying out underneath the stars.

Shaking his head, Neville looked down. There was a bottle of Firewhiskey. He blinked. That hadn't been there before.

"Huh?" His voice was husky and thick with restrained emotion.

"Try looking to your right," offered a friendly voice. So he did. Sitting next to him, mug of tea in hand, was Hannah Abbott. She had cut her hair since the last time he had seen her-sometime the past summer. He'd been caught up in missions since mid-September, so he'd missed the annual DA gatherings, particularly the Christmas bash at Finch-Fletchley's. "Hey there Commander." She gave a wry smile. "Rough night?"

Neville found himself telling her everything. From telling Luna his feelings in the heat of battle and then needing her to save his hide. How their relationship had been strained by school, Auror work, her travels and his recent apprenticeship at Hogwarts. How it wasn't perfect, but it was good. Letters had been "their thing" as his Auror mates teased him. How she returned from Sweden for his father's funeral when he caught the new strain of dragon pox. How they'd been weathering years of paparazzi, and it had worsened during the Potter engagement and wedding. Ron's marriage to Hermione had left him the lone bachelor of the Gryffindor "war heroes" just a month prior.

Hannah listened, responding attentively at all the right times. She clucked in sympathy as he recounted Luna's breaking up with him.

"Was there actually something there, to indicate you'd end up marrying each other, or was it just the reporters getting to you?" She blushed. "That came out all wrong. I'm sorry."

"No," Neville chuckled. "I understand."

"Was that what you were going to talk to her about?" Hannah asked quietly.

"No." The admission was like confessing to his Gran that he was dating the Quibbler's editor's daughter. Awkward, and made him want to get eaten by the ground. Morosely, he said, "It wasn't working like I wanted it to. I wanted to make it like it was. Before."

"Then she did the right thing, and when you're back on your feet, you'll appreciate it. Keeping your friendship is better than pushing something that clearly wasn't working," Hannah said briskly, handing him a glass of water. "Drink up. Go to room 17C, you can stay here. I'll get one of the elves to check on you and bring you food. You certainly won't want to be pestered in the morning. After the evening rush, we'll get you figured out." With ease, she began to clean the counter and whisk the empty bottle and mug away.

"You work here?" Neville asked, dumbfounded.

"Cousin of Tom on Mum's side," she replied. "I started as a cook, then a maid. He's having me work my way up and around. Currently, I'm head of the night shift. He says that this is the best method of learning and knowing this old place. That I'll understand it better this way."

"Huh," was Neville's eloquent response.

"Up you get, we'll talk at a decent hour."

-x-x-

Neville instinctually went for his wand when he woke in a strange room without knowledge of how he got there. Slowly, memory returned, and if not for the streaming rays of sunlight, he would have resumed his slumber. As it stood, he could use a shower.

Half an hour, three cleaning charms, and a shaving charm later, Neville Longbottom almost felt like a new man. He didn't even have a headache, he marveled. Mid-thought, his stomach rumbled. A few moments later, a covered tray appeared on the table. Approaching it, he found a note:

_Neville—I know you like breakfast so I figured you wouldn't mind it at this late hour._

He was surprised to find it was six o'clock.

_Took long enough getting you up the stairs, so I told the elves to let you sleep. If you wait until a bit after eight, the rush'll be gone for the most part. I've left a few magazines_

Which he found.

_so you don't get bored. —Hannah_

Wolfing down his porridge and bacon, Neville thought of the note as he paged absently through the American publication of Herbologists' Weekly.

The clock chimed eight. Neville rose from his chair and went downstairs.

—X—X—X—

May 2, 2002

He knew the relative solitude from the reporters was too good to last. He knew he should feel lucky—or perhaps bad—that they'd been preoccupied with the newest Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, just returned from their honeymoon. The inevitable pushy attitudes, each worse than the last, made him long for his days of obscurity. He drank his tea, wishing he didn't have class the next day so it could be something stronger, before opening the special editions of the papers and magazines.

"The DA Dream Duo—DONE!" Charming. Why did he maintain a_ Daily Prophet_ subscription?

"Hero Stands Alone!" How did Edgecombe's _Revelio Veritas_ maintain a readership with florid titles like that?

"Eccentric Breaks 'Commander's' Heart!" _Witch Weekly_ was due to receive a donation of one temperamental Mimbulus Mimbletonia.

"Portable Swamp Brings Levity to 4th Anniversary." Good old Luna.

What Neville hadn't expected was the influx of mail he'd receive at breakfast the next day. Over half of it perfumed. Merlin. He really didn't envy Harry anymore.

—X—X—X—

September 22, 2002

"And she was just like the others!" Neville sighed. The Leaky Cauldron was quiet, both waves of the Hogwarts rush long gone. It was a mundane Sunday.

"They're star-struck. They'll grow out of it," Hannah said from the other side of the room. She was clearing tables with a flick of her wand and polishing them with a rag from her apron. "You're on the market for the first time since..." she trailed off, coming to a realization, "since seventh year." She suddenly found her work captivating.

"Pavarti," he whispered. They hadn't been a serious couple, or even a long-lasting one, but she had meant something to him. She had perished in the final wave of the defense of Hogwarts. Even though she had been dating Terry Boot at the time, her death had hit him hard, and Luna had helped him through his grief. He gulped.

"You'll find someone eventually, Neville," Hannah reassured him.

—X—X—X—

February 16, 2003

"I cannot believe it!" Hannah seethed. "Davies did what?"

Neville was in on a Sunday, as always, sharing news from Hogwarts on the chilly March day.

"Swear to Merlin. Walked in, started flirting with her, and less than ten minutes, she was hanging off him as he walked out."

"And she calls herself a _Hufflepuff_?" Hannah shrieked.

—X—X—X—

April 27, 2003

"You're sure? I mean, the reporters have been vultures lately," Neville fretted. "I don't want you getting a bad reputation."

"I'm going to a memorial with my friend," Hannah frostily glared at an ordinary housefly, flicking at it with a towel. "I'm honoring my friends. Anyone who gives me problems will have the enmity of the owner of The Leaky Cauldron."

"Congratulations! I didn't realize you'd made it that far!" Neville praised her.

She blushed. "It's not official until then and Luna's got it exclusively, so do keep it quiet?"

"Of course."

—X—X—X—

December 21, 2003

Neville walked into the Leaky Cauldron stiffly on the third Sunday of December. He knew Hannah thought it odd when he stuttered over that week's bouquet. He had started bringing her flowers after she had wanted something to cheer up the pub in gloomy weather a few months ago during a nasty spell of weather. It was normal. None of these realizations stopped his heart from pounding.

He really didn't have to worry. Neville should have been paying attention to the Christmas carols Hannah had playing through Lee Jordan's latest wireless model. The one that Sunday patrons were most sick of: "All I Want for Christmas is You."

Hannah candidly told him that it was about time as well as, "Finally, I have you as my boyfriend."

—X—X—X—

May 2, 2004

"I'm almost sad, to be honest," Neville joked over tea. "I half expected the nonsense from last year."

"What, some young thing from _Witch Weekly_ half-fainting at your feet? And needing me to rescue you?"

"Er, no," Neville continued muttering as he flushed bright red.

"I had a word with Hermione. She had a word or two with them," Hannah smirked.

"I knew I loved you."

—X—X—X—

October 24, 2004

"What's wrong, Neville?"

"Wrong?" Neville jumped, cursing his nerves silently. "Nothing's wrong!"

Hannah stared at him. "You still have moss in your hair, bits of leaves in your hood, and you're jumping worse than a Bowtruckle."

"Would you say we're happy together?"

"What?" Hannah came out from behind the counter to get a proper look at her boyfriend. Suddenly, Neville was on one knee.

"Marry me?"

—X—X—X—

December 19, 2004

"Merlin, Hannah, why couldn't we have eloped?" Neville sighed as he plopped onto his barstool. The Sunday crowd looked up briefly, but went back to their meals.

"Do you really want to invoke your Gran's wrath? Or my dad's? Oh, Stewart, don't spill that." Hannah directed a young man hooding a full tray of mugs. He cheekily grinned as he headed towards a table of witches.

"We wouldn't have to put up with all of the _Prophet_'s attention and the nonsense if we did," Neville wheedled, missing Hannah's frown. "I'd stop getting tailed when shopping for your presents."

Hannah's frown intensified and her eyes went hard. "That may be, but you spend the majority of your time at Hogwarts. Where reporters have been banned. Even the Head Boy and Girl have the authority to kick them out. I manage and work at a pub. They can always find me to pester and push their questions. You're not really dealing with them." Her tone was frosty.

A clatter and shattering of glass interrupted the awkward silence.

"I better go give my newest employee a hand. I trust you'll be well?" Hannah didn't wait for a response. Neville finished his meal in silence before Flooing away.

—X—X—X—

December 24, 2004

"Hannah! Hannah!" Neville's voice desperately echoed in the empty bar. It was a little after midnight, Christmas Eve. The last hurried day of shopping was eight hours away. "Hannah?"

The proprietor of the Leaky Cauldron was, fortunately for Neville, up. Not fortunate for her though—she hadn't really slept for a couple of nights. This, spat wasn't like their other arguments. They hadn't tried to resolve it through letters this time.

Neville didn't have to wait long for Hannah to pull her Floo pillow out to kneel in front of the fire. "What is it?" Irritation, at her lack of sleep more than anything else, made her words sharp. Neville winced.

"It's my mum. They think she's dying."

Hannah was brushing ash off her sleeves from Flooing to St. Mungo's Long-Term Spell Damage Ward within five minutes.

—X—X—X—

April 10, 2005

"Neville, my man, you're gonna wear a hole in the stone floor at this rate," Seamus laughed. "You face hero-worshipping students on a daily basis. You stand up to reporters every other week. You cut the head off of a bloody snake while on fire! And you're cowed by a pretty girl—yours I might add—in a fancy white dress?"

"You would too, if you had any sense to make an honest man of yourself," muttered Neville. "Why is she—"

"For some reason, daft if you ask me, she thinks your Gryffindor bravery is endearing. She knows you're patient and kind. She knows how to deal with your barmy moods and she finds you attractive—Merlin knows I don't." Seamus winked.

"You're insightful."

"Sally-Anne coached me before I walked in here," Seamus admitted.

-x-x-

The Longbottom wedding was held in the Memorial Courtyard at Hogwarts. Lush greenery and flowers surrounded the guests. The ceremony was brief, but celebration went long into the night. The only reporter present was Luna, who was more interested in Rolf Scamander—Hannah's guest—than any article. It was Sunday. Neville and Hannah would treasure this and every day since they would be spending them together.


End file.
